The Crystal Skull
by Soledad
Summary: The Enterprise is bringing surprises to an archaeological expedition lead by an old friend of Captain Picard's on Bolaxnu 7. Since the Ferengi are interested in the planet, too, things take unexpected turns. And then Riker begins to change…
1. Chapter 1: The Lost City

**STAR TREK – THE NEXT GENERATION**

**by Soledad**

**EP#5: THE CRYSTAL SKULL**

**Rating:** Teens, most likely

**Genre:** Action/adventure

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

This particular story is based on the similarly-titled story idea of Patrick Barry. Sessethantis zh'Cheen is book canon, borrowed from the DS9 relaunch series.

**For visuals:** Dr Boudreau is "played" by Nichelle Nichols as she appeared in "Heroes". The vista of Bolaxnu 7 was inspired by the picture "Alien Paradise" by Inge Nielsen.

**Timeframe:** early season 5, in the year 2368, after the episode "Darmok" but before "Ensign Ro".

**Summary:** The _Enterprise_ is bringing surprises to an archaeological expedition lead by an old friend of Captain Picard's on Bolaxnu 7. Since the Ferengi are interested in the planet, too, things take unexpected turns. And then Riker begins to change…

* * *

**CHAPTER 01 – THE LOST CITY**

At Stardate 45 059.1 the USS _Enterprise_ left the orbit of El-Adrel IV, heading back to Federation territory, while the sleek Tamarian ship made an elegant slope in the opposite direction. Standing at the huge windows of the observation lounge, Captain Jean-Luc Picard watched them go to Warp a few minutes later, on their way home.

"A most significant encounter, Number One," he said to his executive officer, and William Riker nodded in agreement.

"You reached a breakthrough, sir. As far as we know, this was the first successful attempt at communication with the Tamarians, not only from side of the Federation but by any other people who've ever met them. You should be proud."

"Oh, I am, Number One," Picard replied in a somewhat melancholy tone. "I just wish a good man wouldn't have to die before we'd actually come to an understanding."

"He knew the risks," Riker said. "Better than you, sir; than any of us. Clearly, he found the final results worth such risks. We might not understand why, but…"

"I do understand, actually," Picard smiled tiredly. "That doesn't make the loss any smaller, though. Especially after all the losses caused by the Klingon civil war."

"We were fortunate it ended so quickly," Riker nodded soberly. "It could have easily escalated into a war that would spread all across the Beta Quadrant like wildfire. Klingon conflicts tend to do that."

"Especially if the Romulans are involved," Picard finished for him. "A shame that our _friend_, Praetor tr'Khellian cannot increase his influence. But his plans are for the long run and he wouldn't endanger them for any immediate advantages. Romulans are a patient people."

"And they can afford to take their time…. Just like Vulcans," Riker said grimly. "I'm afraid we haven't seen the last of Commander Sela. We'll meet her again, in the not too distant future."

"Undoubtedly," Picard turned away from the window and squared his shoulders. "Do we have any new orders yet, Number One?"

"Aye, sir," Riker handed him a PADD. "We've been assigned the task of bringing supplies to an archaeological expedition that's working on a desert planet named Bolaxnu 7, led by a certain Dr Annette Boudreau." he shook his head. "Is Starfleet Command aware of the fact that we aren't really a cargo vessel? Isn't it a bit excessive to assign such a mundane task to Starfleet's flagship?"

Picard gave him a dryly amused look.

"Do you know where Bolaxnu 7 is located, Will?" the executive officer shook his head. "Mid-way between Federation and Ferengi territory."

"Oh," Riker said intelligently as realization hit. Picard nodded.

"Indeed. We are the ship with the most first-hand experience in dealing with the Ferengi; I presume we're supposed to evacuate the entire expedition if we deem the situation too dangerous."

"What the hell are they doing so far out of the Federation's backyard anyway?" Riker asked.

Picard shrugged. "I don't know, Number One. But I do know Dr Boudreau. She's a name-worthy archaeologist who's been focusing her efforts on the Faran Empire for the last fifteen years or so."

"The Faran Empire?" Riker repeated with a frown. "I can't remember ever having heard about it."

Picard, who had a strong personal interest in archaeology, shrugged again.

"Why would you have? It was never a major galactic power – not a military one anyway, although its influence used to extend over a great number of sectors in their area of space. I know very little about it myself – my personal interest has always been the Kurlan culture – but I'm certain that Mr Data will provide us with sufficient information about the Faran Empire as well as about Bolaxnu 7 and Dr Boudreau's expedition."

* * *

"The Faran Empire was a major economical power in a so far largely uncharted area that lies between Federation and Ferengi territory," Data explained on the impromptu staff meeting forty minutes later. "It existed for almost thirteen thousand years – the exact length of its existence is still unknown, as the source material is both contradictional and imprecise."

"What source material?" Riker interrupted.

"So far, the only information has been gained from the Annals of the Faran Emperors," Data replied. "However, those only exist in translation – in Deltan and Athosian, mostly – and it is hard to tell how much of what they contain is true and how much is simple propaganda."

"What do you mean with propaganda?" LaForge asked.

"They describe their reign as an era of peaceful extension, flourishing trade with their neighbours and cultivation of art; all kinds of art," Data answered. "However, as the legendary capital planet of the Empire, Izul, has not been found yet, those statements could not been confirmed so far. The rare funds on colony words are merely utilitarian buildings that show no particular artwork; it was either not suited to survive for an extended period of time or they were not allowed to be displayed outside of Izul itself."

"Interesting," commented Counselor Troi. "Is it known what caused the demise of the Faran Empire?"

Data shook his head. "No. The only known fact is that the Empire fell into an abrupt and mysterious collapse over eight thousand year ago. Again, that date is mainly conjecture," he added. "Despite the size of the Empire, very few outsiders had ever had contact to it, and with the loss of the capital planet all reliable information seems to be lost as well."

"You mean the Empire mostly consisted of colonies populated by the Faran themselves?" Dr Crusher tried to clarify.

Data nodded. "Exactly, Doctor. There are reflections to a more numerous subspecies that appears to have been sent to the colony words; and a group called the Kakriri Warriors that might or might not have been of the actual Faran people, but it is all more than a little vague, unfortunately."

"Understandable, though," Picard supplied. "If the Annals were meant for the use of the Emperors themselves, there was no need to go into great detail about something they already knew."

"Correct, Captain," the android said. "The mystery about the Faran Empire has been the interest of Federation archaeologists for a long time. Andorians, in particular, have been greatly motivated to rediscover the famed Faran art. Excavations are going on on a number of identified colony worlds; however, Bolaxnu 7 is the one at the greatest distance from Federation territory, which makes it necessary to provide the expedition with supplies, as there are no inhabited planets within reach where they could get anything they may need."

"Is there anything that would be elevating this mission above the mundane?" Counselor Troi asked. "Beyond the fact that it is being led by Dr Boudreau, that is?"

"You know Dr Boudreau?" Picard looked at her in surprise.

Troi shook her head. "No; but I've looked her up in the Federation's archaeological database and realized that she's considered the highest authority in this particular area," she smiled at Picard. "I understand that the two of you have known each other for a long time, Captain."

Picard nodded. "Since university, actually. We were both students of Professor Richard Galen, before I'd decide to join Starfleet."

"Professor Galen? The one who's spent the last decades attempting to confirm the bold theory that numerous humanoid species in the galaxy had a common genetic heritage?" Dr Crusher whistled. "I met him on a conference, a few years ago; he's quite extraordinary."

"That he is," Picard agreed. "I heard that he'd spent all these years gathering information from at least nineteen planets across the quadrant in an effort to confirm this theory."

"Has he managed to do so?" Riker asked doubtfully.

"I don't know, Number One," Picard shrugged. "He was very disappointed when I chose a career in Starfleet instead of one in archaeology and we haven't really spoken ever since. All I know about his work is from hearsay – and from his publications, of course."

"Do you think that Dr Boudreau is trying to prove the same theory?" Dr Crusher guessed.

Picard shook his head. "No; Annette has always been exclusively interested in the Faran Empire. It had been a childhood dream of hers to find Izul before everyone else."

"And she apparently succeeded," Data said. Or, at least, she seems to believe so. Her latest report to the Archaeology Council of the Federation announces that she has discovered a lost city on Bolaxnu 7 which, in her opinion, indicates that the planet actually _is_ Izul."

For a moment everyone was stunned to silence. As usual, Riker recovered from his surprise first.

"Do you think she's right, Captain?" he asked.

"It is, at the very least, _possible_," Picard allowed. "The location of the planet is such that it _could_ be considered as a possible candidate. However, to answer that question for certain, we'll need more data. A great deal more."

He looked at the android. "Mr Data, I want you to find out everything there is currently known about the Faran Empire; and not just the few confirmed facts. Everything: rumours, gossip, wild theories, no matter how obscure. I want to know what we might be facing when we arrive at Bolaxnu 7."

"Understood, Captain."

"Mr LaForge, what is our ETA?"

"By maximum travelling velocity approximately four days and sixteen hours, Captain," the chief engineer replied. "Unless you want me to push the engines a bit, that is."

Picard shook his head. "No, that's not necessary. If the planet is indeed Izul, it's been there over eight thousand years undisturbed. It can wait a few more days. I'd prefer to make myself familiar with the source material before we arrive. Dismissed."

* * *

Geordi LaForge _did_ push his engines just a little bit, and so the _Enterprise_ arrived at Bolaxnu 7 in a little under four days.

"It is a desert planet of the Class G," Data reported on the last staff meeting before the away team would beam down, "with a silicate surface, and a thin oxidizing atmosphere. Quite similar to Rigel 12, actually, but with five per cent less planetary mass. The planet's core is currently inactive due to its age, but there still is some water under the surface – not enough to support organic life, though."

"Do you mean it can't support life _now_ or that it was never capable of doing so?" Dr Crusher asked.

""On the contrary, doctor," the android said. "The presence of dry river beds proves that the planet was once more than well suited to support life. Apparently, it even had oceans at some point. Whether it was natural aging that changed the conditions or some cosmic phenomenon is currently unknown, though."

"What about mineral resources?" Worf asked. "Could it have been used as a mining planet?"

"Sensor readings indicate the former presence of large deposits of raw dilithium," Data replied. "However, those deposits have been depleted millennia ago. It is, geologically seen, a rather old planet and largely useless, save for research purposes."

"Any sign of the lost city that Dr Boudreau discovered?" Picard asked.

The android nodded.

"Yes, Captain. There is a dense, intricate network of subterranean tunnels and caves, at the very least twenty-eight levels deep. Due to the presence of certain rare ores in the rock our sensors cannot penetrate the structure any deeper, but I assume that there might be further levels beneath the ones we can read."

"You mean the whole city is under the earth?" Riker clarified.

The android nodded again.

"The only surface structures are a pair of monoliths that, according to Dr Boudreau's report, create the actual entrance into the city… some kind of passage, it is said."

Riker pulled a face. "I don't like the sound of that. With your permission, Captain, I'd like to take both Data and Geordi with me. Just in case there's some kind of unknown technology at work. I wouldn't like to walk into a trap."

"Permission granted," Picard said, "although I don't think that Annette Boudreau would have any hidden agenda. She lives solely for her work and has little to no other personal interests."

"I don't doubt that, sir; but she might not know what sort of traps the inhabitants of this planet might have left behind."

"The possibility of any of the technology still working is less than ten per cent, Commander," Data said. "This planet has been uninhibited for at least 7.872 thousand years. Of course, this is only a rough estimate," he added apologetically.

"Of course," Picard suppressed a smile. "Very well, Number One. Put together an away team while Ensign Brooks puts together the supply modules and Chief O'Brien prepares the cargo transporter unit on Deck 4. In the meantime, I'll contact the expedition and have a little chat with an old friend."

* * *

Less than twenty minutes later the away team, consisting of Riker, Data, LaForge, Worf, Dr Selar and medical technician Simon Tarses met in Transporter Room 3, ready to beam down to the surface.

"Where is Chief O'Brien?" asked Riker from the young, dark-skinned woman standing behind the transporter console.

She was new, came aboard during the regular crew rotation schedule from Starbase 260, shortly before the Klingon civil war would break lose. Hubble or Hubbell or something like that was her name, Riker couldn't quite remember at the moment.

"Still busy with the supply modules in the cargo transporter," the transporter technician replied. "There's some highly sensitive stuff in those modules, sir; and the cargo transporter units are primarily designed for operation at molecular resolution. Which is sufficient for standard cargo use but one needs to be careful with certain chemicals and sophisticated equipment."

That was considerably more information than Riker actually needed, and the delay made him slightly irritated.

"Have you spent much time in Commander Data's company, Ensign…"

"Hubbell, sir," both the transporter technician and the android stared at him in mild bewilderment, but he decided _not_ to start explaining himself.

"Are we ready?" he asked the rest of the away team instead.

"Aye, sir," they chorused, taking up positions on the transporter platform. Riker took the one left for him in the front.

"Energize," he said, and a moment later he felt the brief disorientation as the transporter beam caught him and carried him away.

The world upon the surface of which they were set down was incredible. There was no other word to describe it. A desert long void of life, for sure, but of grim, gripping beauty nonetheless.

The rocky surface, covered with boulders of various sizes, from that of a man's fist to that of a shuttlecraft, mixed with rough sand just this side of gravel, had a distant reminiscence of Mars Solis before the terraforming, but the ruling shade was closer to rose and purple than true red. And it was bathed in mixed light of red-gold and silver.

They were standing in the bottom of a wide, shallow valley – presumably a dried-out river bed – that was framed by monolithic rock formations that varied widely in shape and shade. The twin monoliths on their right were supposedly the ones that marked the passage to the lost city, although nothing of _that_ could be detected by the naked eye – or by tricorder readings, for that matter.

Far above and ahead of them, almost touching the horizon, hung Bolaxnu 8: a huge, ringed planet, gleaming and semi-transparent like quicksilver. It seemed impossible that the incredible mass of the gas giant had not yet torn Bolaxnu 7 to pieces; but perhaps it _had_ messed up its smaller neighbour's orbit, turning a once flourishing world into a deadly desert in the process.

A broad sward of white clouds – in truth a sward of densely set, bright stars, as the planet didn't have enough surface water left to produce actual clouds – appeared to curl upwards, linking itself through the ring of the gas giant; in its downward curve sat Bolaxnu, the central star of the system: a small yet bright ball of reddish light, compared with the cold gleaming of the ringed planet. Riker was fairly certain that Bolaxnu 7 knew no darkness. Even at nighttime, the silver light of its giant neighbour would provide enough illumination to make any artificial means unnecessary.

"Are the two planets in Trojan orbit?" he asked, and Data nodded.

"Yes, Commander. However, my calculations show that this might not have always been the case. It is more likely that the gravitational pull of the gas giant slowly, gradually modified the orbit of Bolaxnu 7, until it finally got caught in this constellation; which probably took ten millennia or longer. Stellar Cartography would enjoy making more accurate calculations."

"I'm sure they will," Riker answered dryly. "But we have more urgent matters to deal with right now. Let's find the actual entrance, shall we?"

They walked up to the twin monoliths that were said to mark the entrance to the subterranean city and now, from close up, they could see that these were different from the natural rock formations seaming the valley. Made of the same amber rock, yet clearly by artificial means, they were as tall as the towers of As'toroken, their gleaming surface unmarred by weather and any other environmental effects, despite the fact that the planet had been abandoned for millennia.

There was also no sign of any gate or doorway on either of them.

"If this is the entrance, I can't see how it's supposed to work," muttered Riker. "There's nothing and nobody here."

"That is not entirely correct, Commander," Dr Selar took out her medical tricorder to scan for life signs. "Logic dictates that the entrance of the city must be well hidden; presumably even cloaked."

"Perhaps it can only be opened from the inside," suggested Ensign Tarses.

He was a young man, barely out of the Academy, with a constantly worried expression on his fresh face – which most people found vaguely confusing, as he'd inherited the pointed ears of his Vulcan grandparent.

"That is unlikely, Ensign," Data replied. "If the entrance could not be opened from the outside, the expedition would never have found it in the first place."

"Perhaps the opening mechanism was damaged, yet they've managed to repair it," suggested LaForge. "My VISOR can still pick up traces of residual energy between the two monoliths – in fact, it is building up as we speak."

"He's right," Worf consulted his tricorder. "Commander, we should back off a bit, just in case."

"I don't think our own people would mean us any harm, Mr Worf," Riker said. "They're expecting us, after all; and the supplies we bring them."

"Nonetheless, we might be dealing with unknown technology here," Dr Selar supported the Klingon. "Logically, we should apply safety measures."

She made a couple of demonstrative steps backward and Ensign Tarses followed her obediently.

In the meantime the energy was now visibly building up between the twin monoliths. It crackled on the smooth surface of the amber rock, its sizzling arches meeting in the exact middle, intertwining and forming the outline of a tall, arched gateway. In the next moment, however, it was gone, and between the monoliths stood the shapes of two women, seemingly small and fragile compared with their surroundings.

One of them was clearly an Andorian: tall and willowy for one of her race, with delicate facial features and an almost swan-like carriage in the neck of shoulders. Her more silvery skin tone and the flimsy, stalk-like antennae rising from the front parietal lobes unmistakably identified her as a member of the _Thalish_ minority.

Riker found her vaguely familiar but at first he couldn't remember where from – until the wide lilac eyes gave her away, a rare colour, even among the _Thalish_. It was Sessethantis zh'Cheen, not only a celebrated artisan of Andor but also a member of the hereditary gentry. Granted, the once ruling families had lost their right to form the Andorian government some five centuries previously, but there were still many who acknowledged the position of such families and pained their descendants honour.

Sessethantis zh'Cheen would have been the First Princess of one such family a thousand years ago and was treated accordingly, both by her own people and the representatives of the Federation. She accepted it as her due.

Sometimes being the son – even the _estranged_ son – of a Federation diplomat came in handy. Riker could now remember having met her on Betazed, quite a few years ago; even through now she was wearing a simple and practical _ceara_, the traditional garb of a _zhen_, the only one of the four Andorian genders that was capable of bearing children, instead of the usual formal robes. She was clearly here to work, not in any political function.

"_Zha_'Cheen," Riker said, using the accepted polite form of address, "it is nice to meet you again. I wasn't expecting to see you here, of all places."

"The artwork discovered at this excavation is quite extraordinary," she replied in a melodious, slightly accented voice that was much softer than that of the average Andorian's. "As the current deacon of the Art Academy, I was the most obvious choice," those wide, lilac eyes narrowed. "Do I know you, Commander?"

Riker shook his head. "It is doubtful that you'd remember me, _Zha_'Cheen, but we've met before. On Betazed, when the newest building of _their_ Art Academy was opened."

Her antennae wiggled in the Andorian equivalent of a nod.

"I do remember now. You were with the family of Ambassador Troi; but you looked different then. This… facial hair changes your appearance very much."

"So I am frequently told," Riker grinned; then he turned to the other woman who'd been listening to them quietly. "I'm Commander William Riker, First Officer of the _Enterprise_. Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"The pleasure is all mine," she replied, reaching out with a small, dark, fine-boned hand like a bird's claw. "I am Dr Boudreau, leader of this expedition. How's Jean-Luc doing?"

* * *

For a moment Riker was stunned with surprise. He hadn't looked up Dr Annette Boudreau in advance, but he'd expected somebody of Picard's age and mannerism. The two had studied together and been friends ever since, after all.

What he saw instead was a small, dark-skinned woman of regal posture who seemed to be in her late seventies or early eighties. Her short-cropped, iron-grey hair famed her face like a wreath of silver frames, her almond-shaped, dark eyes mirrored a great deal of experience and a lot of pain and one could have cut glass with her cheekbones. She barely reached to Riker's shoulder and yet had such a strong, commanding presence that the executive officer of the _Enterprise_ unconsciously snapped to attention under her piercing glare and had to fight the urge to kiss that fragile old hand with the deepest respect.

In her youth she must have been absolutely stunning. The ashes of a once great beauty, long burned away by the hardships of a long life, were still visible in her proud, imperious face. In a different place and time, she could have been a queen… a priestess… a goddess. Here and now she was a scientist – still with the same aura.

"Welcome to Bolaxnu 7, Commander," she continued in her deep, smoky voice; she didn't seem to mind that he had yet to answer her question about Picard's well-being. "Would you mind to introduce the others?"

Riker hurriedly apologized for his lack of manners and introduced his colleagues, one by one. When he named Dr Selar, the eyes of Dr Boudreau lit up at once.

"A doctor, good," she said in obvious relief. "One of my colleagues, Dr Roark, was recently injured, and he doesn't seem to be getting better. We're all concerned about him."

"What happened?" the Vulcan asked with professional interest.

"Not all of the tunnels are safe," explained Dr Boudreau. "The deeper levels have a tendency to collapse; the floors can break through here and there. Dr Roark was working in one of the newly opened caves and fell into a hidden pit, some thirty feet deep… or more. He broke several bones and suffered a heavy concussion. Unfortunately, our bone-knitting device has stopped working half a year ago. All we've got are some medical tricorders and a dermal regenerator."

"It's high time, then, that we get your supplies here," Riker touched his com badge. "Riker to Cargo Transporter Unit 4."

"O'Brien here," the voice of the _Enterprise_'s transporter chief replied.

"You can beam down the supplies now, Mr O'Brien," Riker told him. "Log on to our communicators and put them down anywhere in a two-metre-radius."

"Aye, sir," the good-natured Irishman acknowledged his orders. "Energizing in five-four-three-two-one… transfer complete!"

In the next moment the five large supply modules materialized less than a metre from their position. Based on the relieved smile of Dr Boudreau with which she checked the inventory lists, the expedition must have run out of just about everything during the last year.

"We've been working here for more than three years by now," she explained, "and supply runs have been few and far between. We're glad that Thantis has joined us half a year ago; having a celebrity in our rows makes it a lot easier to get at least the basic necessities. Without her, we might have had to cut our work short here."

"That would have been a shame," Riker said. "Especially now that you've finally found the lost capitol of Izul."

"Well, where that is concerned," Dr Boudreau seemed more than just a little uncomfortable, "my proclamations may have been premature."

Data, having taken in their surroundings both visually and via tricorder, came back just in time to catch the tail end of their conversation.

"What do you mean with _premature_, doctor?" he asked in surprise.

Dr Boudreau shrugged elegantly.

"I may have been wrong," she admitted with obvious reluctance.

Riker stared at her in shock. "You gotta be kidding, doctor!"

"Afraid not," she replied in a tight voice; then she turned away. "If you'll excuse me, Commander, I must oversee the transfer of the supplies. Thantis cans how you around in the meantime."

Riker found this sudden interruption a little odd but he couldn't deny that the transfer of supplies was the most important thing – at least for the expedition members.

"Of course, doctor," he said. "Commander Data and Lieutenant Worf will help you with the supplies, while Dr Selar and Ensign Tarses look after your injured man. We can discuss the issue of Izul later."

"What am I supposed to do, sir?" LaForge asked.

"Keep a close eye on any bit of technology you may discover," Riker ordered in a low voice. "This site to site transporter seems intriguing. Not something we could use aboard a starship, of course, but certain mining colonies, especially the ones with a closed environment, might show interest, if we can figure out how it works."

"I doubt that it would prove more practical than anything the Federation already has," the Andorian commented. "Besides, it is ancient. No; the true wonders of this city, whether it is the lost capital of Izul or not, lie under the surface."

"From an artisan's point of view, I presume," Riker grinned.

Zh'Chen's antennae turned towards each other in a clear sign of amusement.

"Is there any other one, Commander? Follow me, and I shall show you wonders no man has ever seen before."

"Is the gateway accessible from the outside, too?" LaForge asked.

"Of course," replied zh'Cheen. "As far as we can tell, this was a public entrance, open for everyone, save for emergencies. The inhabitants of this planet – whoever they might have been – had realized that the surface will become inhabitable in the long run soon enough to move their civilization underground. Dr Roark estimated that they must have worked on it for centuries – millennia perhaps – delving deeper and deeper in each new generation. We've barely begun to scratch the surface."

She led them to a slab of smooth, amber stone that had been worked seamlessly into the rocky floor of the valley, in the exact middle between the twin monoliths. It was large enough for six people to stand on it.

"This is the local equivalent of a transporter platform," she explained. "We still haven't figured out what triggers the actual process; or whether it can be used in other directions than just in and out. Annette says they haven't found similar platforms within the city, but that doesn't mean there aren't any. Perhaps…"

Whatever else she intended to say, it was chopped off by the transporter effect that caught them unexpectedly and without warning.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2: Wonderland

**STAR TREK – THE NEXT GENERATION**

**by Soledad**

**EP#5: THE CRYSTAL SKULL**

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.

This particular story is based on the similarly-titled story idea of Patrick Barry. Sessethantis zh'Chane is book canon, borrowed from the DS9 relaunch series.

**For visuals:** Dr Boudreau is "played" by Nichelle Nichols as she appeared in "Heroes".

**Timeframe:** early season 5, in the year 2368, after the episode "Darmok" but before "Ensign Ro".

**Summary:** The _Enterprise_ is bringing surprises to an archaeological expedition lead by an old friend of Captain Picard's on Bolaxnu 7. Since the Ferengi are interested in the planet, too, things take unexpected turns. And then Riker begins to change…

* * *

**CHAPTER 02 – WONDERLAND**

The cavernous room into which the transporter released them was… well, like nothing else they'd ever seen before. The closest resemblance would have been the central hall of a spaceport – only with a unique, artistic, utterly alien flair.

And, of course, without the usual masses hurrying from one terminal to another platform and back.

The walls around them were sculpted as if they were some sort of huge, petrified spruce forest, the boughs of which stretched to meet above one's head, building a domed ceiling, representing all imaginable hues of green, from turquoise to almost grey. Bouquets of flowers and fruits were scattere4d all over them, in the most brilliant yellows and ambers.

At regular intervals old-fashioned escalators led to a great number of lower levels; at least that was what they looked like. Only that they seemed to be made of some unknown material that could stream like water and yet turned solid again as soon as the escalator stopped. LaForge was mildly shocked seeing that. Riker was not.

"It's a rarely seen technology but not unheard of," he explained. "It's said that the Antosians have developed it and still use it on their homeworld."

"The Antosians are a truly ancient race," Dr Selar added. "Their known history goes back as far as two hundred thousand standard years."

The Andorian wiggled her antennae in agreement. "That is true. They are the oldest intelligent species that still kept their physical form."

"Which is highly illogical," Dr Selar commented. "Why would anyone accept the limitations of a physical body when they could exist as pure energy?"

The antennae of zh'Cheen turned towards each other in the Andorian gesture of amusement.

"I asked Ambassador Llire Ner Nabu the same question. She said that having a physical body would be _fun_, and they wouldn't see why they should give up the chance to enjoy _that_. Especially as they've developed the technique of cellular metamorphosis and therefore can change their appearance at will. Remarkable people, the Antosians," she added thoughtfully.

Geordi LaForge scanned his surroundings with the help of his VISOR.

"Perhaps," he said. "But this place definitely isn't even half as old as the Antosian culture. This technology, based on the level of entropy it displays, can't be any older than forty thousand years, give or take a couple of centuries."

"Which is still pretty old, compared with _our_ history," Riker said, taking a look around. "What is this place anyway? It looks like some kind of dispatch centre."

"That is exactly what it is," zh'Cheen led them to a huge, floor-to-ceiling display screen and activated it with a simple touch.

A literal maze of caves, tunnels, stairways and escalator connections appeared on the screen in a three-dimensional holographic image, the levels and knots marked in a script that seemed vaguely familiar, although Riker couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"The technology is remarkably redundant," the Andorian continued, "despite the fact that it is – or, at least, originally _was_ – based on geothermic energy, and the planet is largely geologically inactive by now,"

"They must have found a different energy source," LaForge guessed.

Zh'Cheen wiggled her antennae. "That's what Dr Roark assumes, too. Which is why he'd been searching for possible other energy sources in the lowest, newest levels before he had his accident."

She changed the display, so that it showed an imaginary outside view of the whole complex.

"As you can see, the city has a pyramidal layout. The builders expanded both vertically and horizontally. The oldest levels are the smallest and lie closest to the surface. The deeper it goes, the wider and technically more advanced the city gets."

"It seems huge," LaForge said and once again, the Andorian wiggled her antennae in agreement.

"According to our current estimate, it had between a hundred and a hundred and ten levels and must have housed twenty to twenty-two million inhabitants at its peak. Strangely enough, the newest levels that we'd been able to find show the earliest signs of abandonment. As if the culture would have flagged and the inhabitants had retreated to the older, more primitive parts of the city as their numbers dwindled."

"That would make sense, assuming the energy resources were running off and they could no longer operate the parts that were most advanced and therefore most energy-consuming," Riker suggested.

"Perhaps," zh'Cheen replied with the Andorian equivalent of a shrug. "I'm here to study the artwork. But the geologists of the expedition say that Bolaxnu 7 must once have been rich on water; almost as rich as Earth, in fact. However, when the gas giant's gravity disturbed its orbit, bringing it closer to its sun, the oceans began to dry up and the planet was slowly turned into a desert. Perhaps the inhabitants simply couldn't adapt to the environmental changes and eventually fell back into a technically primitive state."

"Even those still had to be fairly advanced," LaForge commented, "seeing as the transporter has clearly dispatched the members of the Away Team to different locations simultaneously."

"It does that," zh'Cheen agreed. "We still don't know _how_, though. The most promising theory would be that of telepathic circuitry that reacts to sentient brainwaves, but so far the scientists haven't found any proof for it. They say this technology is unlike anything they've ever encountered before."

"Are the transporters the only way to get from one place to another?" LaForge asked.

Zh'Cheen wiggled her antennae in the Andorian equivalent of shaking one's head.

"Oh, no! There's actually a network of antigrav transport cars travelling below the ceiling... at least on the blue level that the expedition currently occupies. The nearest access point is just down those escalators. Come with me and I'll show you."

* * *

They rode the escalators that basically floated them down like some kind of slow water slide – though, according to zh'Cheen, the speed could be changed once one had gained enough experience using them – to the blue level, which was roughly twenty feet deeper. It had clearly been named after its blue-painted walls, in a stylized pattern of different hues that repeated itself until one's eyes started to dazzle. Thin veneers of silvery ore, interspersed with small white gems or crystals eased the monotony.

The floor was covered with the same silvery metal; smooth, but not so that one would slip. The ceiling was left in its natural rocky state, save for the parallel lines of antigrav tracks running directly beneath it. At both ends of the platform twin escalators spiralled up like spun glass, seeming supremely elegant yet very fragile at the same time.

"Don't worry," zh'Cheen said. "They are sturdier than they look."

She stepped onto the frozen end of the escalator, which became semi-liquid at once and began to float her upwards. The _Enterprise_ officers followed her – after a moment of hesitation.

Reaching the upper end of the escalator, she pressed her palm against a blinking hexagonal surface, presumably summoning the transport car. Less than thirty seconds later something resembling an oversized photon torpedo arrived: sleek, cylindrical, silver-hued, with no visible opening on its smooth surface.

Zh'Cheen simply touched it, and an entrance opened by part of the metallic surface... well, _melting away_ would have been the closest expression to describe it. Zh'Cheen's antennae turned towards each other in amusement, seeing the concerned faces of her human companions.

"I promise you, it's absolutely safe," she said.

She stepped in, followed by the two humans and the Vulcan doctor. In the inside, the transport car looked like some lush, old-fashioned train compartments from Earth's 19th century. The low, comfortable seats running in a U-shape around its sides were stuffed and covered with something akin to red velvet. A control panel was no-where to be seen, but zh'Cheen seemed confident enough about the reliability of the system.

"The car stops automatically at each contact point," she explained. "We'll check on the distribution of the supplies first. Then I'll show you one of the excavation sites. Trust me, it will be worth your time; it's one of the oldest parts of the city and not at all like the rest of it."

Expressing blatant disinterest in the artwork the Andorian was clearly enthusiastic about (even if it would have been the plain truth), the _Enterprise_ officers accepted their fate. They travelled along five stops – or contact points as zh'Cheen had called them – and got out of the car at the sixth, arriving at what seemed another dispatch centre.

It was a very large cave, its walls covered in a vibrantly coloured, abstract harlequin design with outstanding ceiling artwork, separated into smaller rooms by similarly patterned, translucent glass walls. Or what counted as glass for this place anyway.

In the central room was a circular platform, apparently designed to accept cargo transports from the surface, as the supply modules beamed down from the _Enterprise_ were standing on it. About a dozen people of different races – humans, dark-skinned native Centaurians, an Andorian, a Vulcan and even a Tellarite – were busily offloading the necessities and distributing them to the many places where they were needed. A system of rolling bands, working on the same principle as the escalators, was used for moving the heavier pieces, while Data and Worf were overseeing the whole process.

"Where is Dr Boudreau?" Riker asked in surprise. "She wanted to supervise the transfer of supplies, didn't she?"

Worf shrugged his massive shoulders, muttering something about women and their lack of reliability, which everyone ignored with practiced ease. The Klingon was a sour person by his very nature and always found a reason to grumble. It was easier to pretend one hadn't heard him than deal with his rants.

"She didn't come here, after all," Data explained readily. „She might have been called away by some new discovery. If this is, in fact, the lost capital of Izul, it could, theoretically, provide some tantalizing information pertaining to Ferengi culture."

"To _Ferengi_ culture?" Riker echoed in surprise. "How that?"

"According to the information Commander Ransom has gained from certain Ferengi businesspeople on Starbase 80, a distant colony of the Faran Empire, which was stranded after the Empire had collapsed, was the Ferengi homeworld," Data explained. "In the Annals of the Faran emperors it was known as Bunol. It seems that when they became independent, the Ferengi renamed their planet; or gave it back its indigenous name, in any case. Or rather _names_. To the current day, it is called _Ferengar_ by a minority living in exile, yet _Ferenginar_ by the vast majority that is still allowed to have access to it. Interestingly enough..."

"Data!" Riker interrupted the android before he could have launched into the various theories regarding to the still largely unknown ancient Ferengi history. "Dr Boudreau claims that she may have been wrong in making the announcement that this would be Izul in the first place."

The android blinked in surprise. "Does she? Interesting. I would think that if this planet is, in fact, Izul, that would explain the vexed interest of the Ferengi in it."

"They, too, could be wrong," LaForge pointed out.

"That is possible, of course," Data allowed. „It would be too much of a coincidence, however."

"Could Dr Boudreau be deliberately misleading us?" Riker asked the Andorian.

Zh'Cheen made that thing with her antennae again that even other races had come to recognize as the equivalent of a shrug.

"She could be, of course," she admitted. "In theory, at least. I don't see _why_ she would do so, though. This is the discovery of her life; something she had been working towards for decades."

"Which could be the very reason why she would want to keep it from falling into Ferengi hands and being taken apart and sold to the highest bidder for profit," Selar pointed out logically.

"True," Riker allowed. „I still believe that there's more behind it, though."

The Andorian wiggled her antennae indifferently.

"That, of course, is possible. I am but a fleeting acquaintance of Dr Boudreau, so I cannot be certain of her motivation. You can discuss it with her in person as soon as we have finished the tour. Come now; we have to cross _Solna Centre_ to reach the newest excavation sites, and that is a long way down."

* * *

_Solna Centre_ turned out to be something akin to the administrative area of the underground city and lay four levels below Blue. It was a cavernous place with a bright red ceiling that seemed to weigh down heavily on the lengthy archives – assuming that they _were_ archives, of course.

The walls depicted a spruce forest that was at least a mile long... or, at least, some long-extinct trees that looked very much like spruces. The central room was the only exception; it had an amazing, floor-to-ceiling star-map covering one of its walls.

"According to the team's scientist its shows the whole expanse of the Faran Empire," zh'Cheen explained. "_Including_ the planet we know as Ferenginar."

The network of transport cars didn't reach this level, and what other transportation system the long dead inhabitants of the still nameless city might have used, the expedition hadn't found yet. LaForge's guess was site-to-site transporters, but even he admitted that it was merely conjunction. His VISOR didn't pick up any energy readings that would support the theory.

"Of course, the energy source might be depleted by now," he admitted, somewhat unhappily.

Whatever the reason might have been, they had to use the escalators – the only piece of technology that seemed to be n perfect working order on every new level the expedition would open up. Which, as LaForge mentioned, wasn't a small feat for ten thousand years old technology.

From _Solna Centre_ they travelled downwards another twenty levels or so (Riker lost count at some point), each of them decorated differently, but usually in very bright, almost garish colours that made the average human eye water in pain. The inhabitants also seemed to have had a particular fondness for geometrical patterns and stripes that made the beholder positively dizzy after a while.

Finally, when the _Enterprise_ officers believed to be hopelessly lost, they reached their destination. As zh'Cheen had promised, this level was very different from the others. It had the same silver-hued metal floor, but the walls were left in their natural rocky condition and decorated with neo-primitive paintings of bizarre animals; they mostly resembled of hard-shelled creatures like tortoises and armadillos, some even of smaller dinosaurs.

Surprisingly enough, the network of antigrav cars resurfaced here – well, sort of. There were the tracks right beneath the ceiling, but no cars and no spiral escalators leading up to them.

"I thought the lower levels were the newer ones," Riker commented. „Yet this place seems older than the rest."

"In a manner, it is," the Andorian replied. "The inhabitants have apparently arranged this level as a museum of some sort. They brought here everything left from their ancient past."

"And a rich past it seems to have been," one of the human archaeologists, who were working in the cave, commented with obvious respect. "Take a look around you: this is what the Acropolis must have looked like before its complete restoration."

Dr Selar raised a supremely Vulcan eyebrow.

"To my – admittedly somewhat limited – knowledge of old Terran archaeological sites, the Acropolis stood on a _hill_," she said dryly. "This is a _cave_. I fail to notice any similarities."

"I meant the age and the state of the artefacts, not their position," the man rolled his eyes at so much Vulcan single-mindedness.

The cave was indeed in a great deal of disarray. Nature had begun to re-claim it, as – unlike on the other levels – there hadn't been any artificial means to keep it in a clean and sterile state. Fluorescent moss had crept in and now partially covered the balustrade, the broken, ancient pillars and the stone sculptures that were standing or lying around in no particular order. Even the traces of a waterfall, long dried p by now, could be discovered.

The sculptures all had the same motifs. They depicted short, bipedal creatures in flying robes, with oversized, bulbous heads and enormous ear shells that formed an unbroken semi-circle with the prominent eyebrow ridges, reaching down to the top of the chin, which was long enough to touch the chest. The finer features had been destroyed by the time gone by and the algae that had grown thick over them, but the facial structure seemed familiar nonetheless.

"Ferengi?" Dr Selar asked a little uncertainly, but the archaeologist shook his head.

"That was our first guess, too, but no; the skull is differently shaped. And unless it is an exaggerated depiction, the brain mass would be significantly larger. According to Dr Boudreau, these people stood at a considerably higher level of evolution than the Ferengi would have ten thousand years ago. Like humans and chimpanzees – only even more so. _If_ the sculpture is anatomically correct, that is."

"Why would anyone want to make anatomically incorrect sculptures?" Dr Selar frowned; or what counted as a frown for Vulcans. It was all in the eyes, really; and in that tiny little wrinkle between those slanted eyebrows.

The archaeologist shrugged. "Idealization, religious motivation, new trends in art forms or simply trying to make the object look ridiculous – take your pick. We still don't know enough about the people who lived here to make an educated guess."

"Scientific discoveries are the result of diligent research and well-proved theories, not of guesses, no matter how 'educated' they might be," Dr Selar commented dryly.

The archaeologist ignored her. He was clearly used to Vulcans and had learned the hard way how to pick his battles.

"At least the animal depictions are fairly accurate," Riker said, eyeing the head of some feline predator protruding from the wall, gargoyle-like. „This here looks a lot like the razor beasts that supposedly live on the smallest southern continent of Ferenginar."

"I thought no strangers were allowed to visit Ferenginar," the archaeologist said, clearly surprised.

Riker nodded. "They aren't. But I was once guest on a Ferengi merchant ship, and the owner had the skin of one of these creatures as a bedcover. Complete with the prepared head. Apparently, they're almost extinct; but that doesn't stop the Ferengi dealing in their hides."

"The _Rules of Acquisition_ won't allow _anything_ to get in the way of profit," the archaeologist commented with a wry grin. Seeing their surprised looks, he rolled his eyes again. "Hey, we're practically living in their front yard here! You didn't think they wouldn't pay us the one or other unannounced visit, did you?"

"Have there been... complications?" Riker asked in concern.

"You mean other than trying to sell us fake artefacts – or genuine ones for horrendous prices?" the archaeologist shook his head. "No coexistence has been surprisingly peaceful so far, despite the fact that our leader is a woman who not only dares to leave her home for work but also has the cheek to wear clothes in public," he grinned. "The first visiting DaiMon nearly became apoplectic; but in the meantime they've grown used to our _hew-man_ ways, as they call it."

"How did Dr Boudreau handle the pressure?" Dr Selar asked with professional interest. "She is not the youngest as humans go; and it has been my experience that human women do not react well to mysogynic treatment."

The archaeologist waved off her concern. "Oh, Annette is one tough cookie; a few idiots won't unbalance her easily. Although... she has changed in recent times," he added thoughtfully.

"In what way?" Riker demanded.

The archaeologist scratched his head. "It's hard to put your finger on it. It's been so gradual we haven't even noticed at first. But looking back to the beginning of our work here, it seems to me that she's become solitary... secretive even. She never joins us for meals anymore, she never laughs. She doesn't come to the excavations unless expressly asked, and she works insane hours in her office – which she's moved down to this level, half a year ago; together with her living quarters."

"Perhaps," Riker said slowly, "I should have a little chat with Dr Boudreau."

The archaeologist shrugged. "You're welcome to try, Commander, but I very much doubt that she'd be willing to talk to _you_. She even refused to contact Captain Picard directly, who is, after all, said to be an old friend of hers."

"I'll give it a try nonetheless," Riker said. "How do I get to her chambers?"

"Go down that corridor on your right," the archaeologist replied with another shrug. "You can't miss them; that's a _cul-de-sac_ that leads right there."

"Commander," Dr Selar said quietly. "Are you truly so determined to violate Dr Boudreau's privacy? She clearly wants to be left alone; we should respect her wish."

"She also clearly hasn't been herself lately," Riker returned. "She might be ill; or she might be a threat. Or both. I need to find out which one."

"In that case it would be logical for me to accompany you," the Vulcan pointed out. "I am a doctor; I can find possible signs of a physical or mental illness more easily. And as a Vulcan, my reaction time is considerably shorter than that of a human – should she pose a threat, the likeliness of which is less than ten per cent."

"No," Riker said. "I'll do this myself. I'm experienced enough to deal with one elderly woman, even if she _is_ a threat. Finish the tour, and then meet me at _Solna Centre_. Call Worf and Data to join in there, too. Perhaps Data can gain access to the databases there; assuming there _are_ any databases."

With that, he turned around and headed towards the corridor the archaeologist had pointed out to him.

Dr Selar made the very convincing impression of an eyeroll without actually stooping low enough to _make_ the gesture.

"Humans," she said in a tone that could have frozen over molten lava.

Zh'Cheen wiggled her antennae in amusement.

"_Male_ humans," she specified.

Vulcans and Andorians were usually at odds with each other on principle in just about everything; and none of the four Andorian genders were truly male _or_ female. But in this very moment, the two female (or sort-of-female) extraterrestrials found themselves in complete agreement about a certain kind of male, human Starfleet officers.

The overconfident-without-a-true-reason kind Riker appeared to represent.

"Hey, ladies!" LaForge protested, feeling vaguely insulted.

Zh'Cheen bowed to him from the hip, in the stiff Andorian fashion that showed respect.

"Present company excluded, of course, Commander," she said. "My apologies."

* * *

The tunnel the archaeologist had sent Riker to follow had dark green walls and an arched ceiling. The walls were painted with fluorescent sea creatures vaguely resembling of grunions and starfish and small sea mammals that were, nonetheless, nothing like the ones once populating Earth's oceans.

The paintings were the only source of illumination in the otherwise complete darkness. The floor seemed like frozen, black asphalt, yet it must have been made of the same material as the escalators because as soon as Riker entered the tunnel, it began to move sluggishly under his feet. The technology in this part of the city was either breaking down or still in the wake-up phase after having lain unused for ten millennia.

Fortunately, the trip with the questionable moving floor wasn't a long one. After half a minute or so, the movement stopped and Riker found himself in front of an open doorway. If there had even been an actual door, it was long gone by now.

He stepped through the doorway, straight into a small, circular room, the semi-translucent, doomed ceiling of which was made up of concentric circles. He could only guess their colour – something light and pale – as the room, like the corridor before, was almost completely dark. Even its true dimensions were hard to guess; less so if there were other doors, leading to other rooms.

The only illumination came from a small, round dais in the exact centre of the room. It was a pale, golden glow, yet not scattered in the room as one would expect but surprisingly bundled and directed right at the small figure sitting on the dais with legs crossed.

It was Dr Boudreau, still wearing that outdated Starfleet uniform from the previous century – a red and black one with a white turtleneck underneath, proving that at some point she must have been a Starfleet officer… _and_ that she was probably a great deal older than she looked. She was holding an item roughly of the size of a melon with both hands.

The pale golden light came from that item, apparently made of some sort of crystal. At first Riker thought it would be directed in twin beams right into the old woman's eyes, but it wasn't so. Rather it seemed to be a swath of golden cloud between her face and the artefact; a cloud in which tiny sparks seemed to travel back and forth.

Dr Boudreau seemed to be in a meditative and ecstatic state. Her face was positively glowing from within.

His curiosity piqued, Riker edged closer to get a better look at the object in her hands. It took him two tries, but in the end he succeeded – and was a bit taken aback by the sight. _More_ than just a little taken aback, in fact.

The object Dr Boudreau seemed to… well, to _communicate_ with, for the lack of a better definition, was a crystal skull. And not just any skull; it appeared to have the same strange proportions as the heads of the sculptures at the excavation site.

In spite of the fact that she was clearly mesmerized by it, Dr, Boudreau noticed Riker's arrival nonetheless… and it obviously displeased her.

"Commander," she said, without looking in his direction, making Riker wonder how could she know that it was him and not somebody else. "You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" Riker asked in annoyance. "This room is part of the excavation and should be accessible to everyone. Even to visitors."

"These are also my private chambers," she replied, still without as much as a glance in his direction. "And as such, they should only be entered upon invitation. I have _not_ invited you. Please, leave. I am busy."

"Busy doing _what_?" Riker pressed on. "What is this… _thing_?"

"Merely an artefact, the genuinity of which I'm still trying to prove – or disprove," she answered. "It's none of your concern. You should leave and not come back."

"I don't think so!" Riker snapped. "Not until you've explained what this artefact exactly is. It's clearly doing _something_ to you."

"Crystal skulls are symbolic artefacts, appearing in many cultures, including on Earth," she said dismissively. "The Earth examples had once been thought to be of pre-Columbian origins, found in Mesoamerica. However, upon closer examination they turned out to be fakes, produces in 19th century England, in the wake of the successful trade with falsified pre-Columbian artefacts."

"_All _of them?" Riker asked, disappointed.

"_Most_ of them," Dr Boudreau corrected. "A few authentic examples did turn up in the late 22nd century… although not of Earth origin. They were found while the foundation of a new Mars colony was being laid – presumably left behind by visiting extraterrestrials millennia ago."

"Yes, I remember having heard about it in history class," Riker said. "Was it ever found out _who_ left them behind."

No," she replied simply. "Of course, the discovery led to all sorts of fantastic theories about early contacts with much higher developed alien cultures; especially as back in the 20th century believers of the paranormal claimed that the skulls falsified on Earth would cause visions, cure terminal illnesses and other such nonsense. A then-popular novel of historically unfounded speculation tried the modern legend of crystal skulls with the completion of the Maya calendar _b'ak'tun_ cycle on December 21, 2012, claiming the re-uniting of the thirteen mystical skulls will forestall a catastrophe allegedly predicted or implied by the ending of said calendar."

She paused and made a rather un-ladylike snort. "We both know it turned out to be complete nonsense."

"People actually believed _that_?" Riker was baffled.

"Oh, yes," Dr Boudreau still wasn't looking at him. "Another sensationalist fool attempted to look the skulls _and_ the Maya to life on Mars; a third one to lost Atlantean civilizations – which we know never existed – and even to antigravity claims, which is, scientifically seen, humbug."

Finally, she turned to Riker for a moment, her dark eyes now glowing from within like molten gold.

"That is the only explanation I can and will give you, Commander," she said, her voice gaining an eerie singsong quality. "Please, leave now. I have work to do, and you are breaking my concentration."

"You don't appear to be doing any actual work here, Doctor," Riker sneered. "You're just sitting here, staring at this skull as if you were hypnotized by it. In fact, I believe that's exactly what's happening."

"Your ignorance is only exceeded by your hubris, Commander," she replied icily. "This discussion is finished. You'll leave my chambers _now_, and you'll never return… unless you want to become my new consort. As a rule, I wouldn't choose somebody this young and belligerent, but these are desperate times."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

Riker had nothing against older women; in fact, his very first lasting relationship had been with somebody whose son was five years older than him. Still, by all open-mindedness, he couldn't imagine getting involved with a centenarian, of all people.

Dr Boudreau dismissed his panicked question with a quick, fluttering flap of one hand.

"Nothing," she said. "It was but a jest, naturally.

She rose elegantly to put the artefact away to some safe place, but Riker was not ready to give up just yet. For some reason he'd have a hard time to explain later, on the mission debriefing, he became overwhelmed by the urge to hold the skull in his hands.

Without warning, he lounged forward and grabbed it. Dr Boudreau tried to wear him off but to no avail. He was far stronger and quicker than she could hope for.

"You fool!" she exclaimed angrily. "Now you've ruined everything!"

But Riker wasn't listening to her. He held the skull with both hands, staring at it, clearly mesmerized by whatever he was seeing. Dr Boudreau tried with all her strength to take it back but had no chance against the big, burly man less than half her age. After the fourth attempt she finally gave up – for the moment at least – and collapsed on the dais, an expression of despair on her face.

Riker, on the other hand, was smiling.

~TBC~


End file.
